After
by psyche b. mused
Summary: Every event has a before and an after, even the end of the world. Logan reunites with someone he wanted to know better before. Will it be the same after, or has too much happened? WIP, AU/AR LoganxOC M for later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

I don't own Wolverine or any of the X-Men characters referenced, and I make no money from this.

This is also my very first X-Men fanfic. I'm bad at sticking to canon so this story follows no established timeline and includes at least one outside character that I know of so far. You've been warned. Beyond that, I do love reviews. :)

Enjoy!

psyche b

1. Reunion Behaviors

Claire sat in front of the crackling fire, her hands wrapped around a mug of hot tea. Her knitting was in a basket next to the sofa. The pair of long wool socks she'd started a few weeks ago was nearly done now, and not a moment too soon. The weather was starting to turn cold, and there was still so much to do before winter set in.

She had most of the apples to bring in, all of the late vegetables, not to mention preserving the things that wouldn't keep on their own. Thankfully, her uncle had managed to get two deer before he died, and that was likely enough meat to get her through the winter, but she wanted to make some time to go out on her own and see if she could get another one, or maybe one of the wild pigs she'd seen signs of recently.

She wanted to check the wind turbines and solar panels too. They didn't provide enough to power all the conveniences, but they did keep food cold and give her a decent amount of hot water. The whole family had called the government-fearing old man a crank, but that was before the H5N1 strain of avian flu mutated into an airborne pathogen with a nearly perfect kill rate. After, she was the whole family.

She glanced at the softly ticking mantle clock. It was close to ten. She wasn't doing herself any good just sitting there. She finished the tea, got up and wound the clock, banked the fire and went to bed.

*~*~*~*~*~*

He watched the dim light flicker out in the cabin. From his vantage point in the woods he couldn't see anyone moving around inside, but he knew someone was there. He had been watching the small farm for several days, considering his next move. Whoever lived there was alone. The wind had been blowing in the wrong direction for him to tell if that person was male or female from scent, and the clothing wasn't giving him any clues either. The few survivors he'd seen wore whatever they could get their hands on, hell so did he. The way the person moved, his guess was that it was a woman.

Satisfied that there wasn't going to be any more movement, he crawled into the small shelter he had built of pine boughs. A fire would have been noticed by whoever lived in the house. He wanted the element of surprise on his side. Not that it mattered much, one person – male or female – wasn't a match for him. The possibility that there might be a lone woman in the house was interesting. It'd been six months since he'd even seen a woman, much less been close to one. Thinking about that wouldn't do him any good right now, though. He wanted at least another day to plan.

*~*~*~*~*~*

She spent most of the day harvesting the late vegetables from the large garden. Her goal was to gather enough of each to get her through the winter. She could go back and get the rest when that was taken care of.

At lunch, she put together a stew of venison, potatoes, carrots, onions and parsnips. It would cook all day and be ready for dinner. She made sure to make enough that it would last a few days. She went back out into the garden. By late afternoon she had put a good dent in her goal, and she decided that the rest could wait until the morning. She went over to the woodpile as she did every day in the late afternoon.

This was something else that she would miss about her uncle. Even though he was in his eighties, he'd hauled enough wood from the surrounding forest to last through the winter and then some. That was something else she was going to have to find time to do herself. Right now she had to focus on splitting and stacking what she had. It was a daily chore that she hadn't gotten appreciably better at in all the weeks she'd been doing it. She picked up the ax, selected a likely length of wood, and got to it.

*~*~*~*~*~*

He was pretty sure that this was a woman, even if he couldn't see her face because of the vantage point and the hat she wore. The way she moved and the way she swung the ax told him so. Clearly it was a chore she wasn't very good at. A little smile touched his lips for the first time in...well...he didn't know how long. Half the time the feral in him was in control. The other half of the time, his human side missed the way the animal distanced him from the pain of losing everyone who had ever meant anything to him. Again.

He took a silent step forward. The ax paused, so did he. He knew that she hadn't heard him, she couldn't have. The ax came down again, and then again in a similar arrhythmic pattern as before, but there was a definite tension about her that hadn't been there before. Something about that tugged at a memory. He took one more step forward.

This time her head snapped up. He knew she couldn't see him, but her eyes were on his location and they didn't waiver. The only person he knew could do that was dead, at least he assumed that she was. The wind changed direction and he caught her scent for the first time. Definitely female saturated in fear, but there was a familiar tone underneath all that.

"Logan?" She called. She was holding the ax in front of her like a barrier. It couldn't be who he thought it was. It was impossible, wasn't it?

"There's someone there! Come out!" Her voice cracked from fear and disuse. He started down the hillside, not taking the trouble to be silent.

*~*~*~*~*~*

It couldn't be. She was sure that it couldn't be. Nothing else activated her mutation like his adamantium, though. She hadn't even thought about her mutation in months. She knew even before her arrival at Xavier's how it worked. Because of how matter is constructed, everything in the world vibrates, and she was able to sense and reproduce those vibrations. The more refined the material, the more intense the sensation it produced in her head.

The world here was considerably quieter than the mansion had been. Now, the background was there, but that's all it was. She'd been able to forget about the rest almost completely. She listened to whoever it was coming down the hillside. The sensation at the base of her skull only grew stronger. It had to be him, or someone else with adamantium layered onto his or her skeleton. That was a truly terrifying thought. She tightened her grip on the ax.

It seemed to take ages for him to get to the bottom of the hill. The glimpses she caught through the trees gave her the impression of a male, but not much detail. She didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. She took off the wide-brimmed hat she was wearing and let it fall to the ground. She gripped the ax tighter. Finally he broke through the trees.

His hair was shaggier than she remembered and his shoulders seemed broader, but this was the same man. Her head was spinning with the improbability of it all, she held onto the ax tighter, as if it were her stability in the storm of emotions that threatened to consume her. He advanced slowly, warily.

"Put the ax down, Claire." The tone of his voice left little room for argument. Claire found that she couldn't make herself let go.

"I'm afraid I'm hallucinating." Her eyes were locked on his, little tremors chased down her spine.

"Yer not. Put it down." He moved closer and gripped the ax handle between her hands. She made herself let go. He took it from her and leaned it up against the block.

Claire hadn't realized she'd been fighting tears until they started to fall. He pulled her close in an unyielding embrace. She hesitated only a moment before wrapping her arms around him, need for closeness overcoming her usual reticence.

"I thought you were-"

"Take more'n a bug to get rid of me." His cheek rested against the top of her head. "Looks like it wasn't enough to get rid of you either." She felt him smile a little against her head. Claire laughed softly.

"I always was a survivor," her voice cracked. His arms tightened around her.

"I know, Darlin'. I know."

She wasn't sure how long they stood there, but eventually, she realized that the light was fading. "Come inside." She murmured, then took a hesitant step back from him. Claire stooped to pick up her hat and stacked the few pieces of wood she'd managed to split. "I have a goat that's probably wondering what happened to me."

"I have to get some stuff," he said. Claire looked up into his eyes, realization dawning. She forgot about the wood.

"You've been watching me, haven't you?"

"Claire-"

"Dammit, Logan-"

"Now just hold on a minute-!"

She crossed her arms and locked her eyes on his. "Me?! You're the one that's been spying on me for God knows how long-"

"I didn't know it was you!" He shot back.

The retort Claire was already forming died on her lips. "Then why-?"

"I've met up with enough survivors to know I ain't always welcome. I like to know what I'm walkin' into."

"Sorry." Claire looked away, she used her crossed arms to still the little tremor that went through her. "No one else has come here....." She turned and walked away. "Get whatever you need. I'll be in the barn for a bit."

Claire walked away not knowing what the hell she could have been thinking, asking him to stay like that. True those hadn't been her words, but the intent was there. She hadn't really known how to deal with him at Xavier's, and then she'd had a lot of other people to act as a buffer between them. It wasn't that she disliked him. She liked him a great deal, and that wasn't a comfortable feeling for her. Claire had never met anyone who made her even consider coming out from behind the walls she had built around herself. The fact that he had was absolutely terrifying. The plaintive bleat of an anxious goat drew her attention.

"I know, Em, I'm late."

The animal whined again. Claire slipped a rope loosely around the goat's neck and led her back into the barn.

"We have a guest," she said to the animal. "And I have no idea if that's a good thing or a bad thing, and I'm talking to a goat. He's been here ten minutes I'm already losing it."

*~*~*~*~*~*

Logan made his way back up the hill quickly. Even after two and a half years she still had the same effect on him that she'd had that first night in the kitchen at Xavier's. He'd gotten back late one night expecting to find the whole place asleep, and when he'd walked in he thought that assumption was pretty much right. He'd wanted a sandwich and a beer before turning in himself, but he hadn't gotten three steps toward the kitchen when the scent of terrified female tickled his sensitive nose.

He'd advanced slowly, not knowing what he was going to find. When he'd entered the kitchen, she was sitting there eating a sectioned orange. The way she'd hugged one leg was the only physical betrayal of her fear, and that was minor enough that a casual observer could have missed it. He'd seen people who could project that icily calm image, usually they were used to being afraid all the time. Before he even knew her name his protective instincts had claimed her, but he felt that way about half the kids at the school. The rest took longer.

That didn't mean she'd made it easy to get get to know her. She'd looked young enough to be a student, so he'd tried to chase her off to bed. She'd told him that she wasn't a student, and she'd told him her name, and that was exactly it. Chuck told him she taught music, and that her mutation was some kind of big secret that she didn't want anybody to know about. Getting more information than that took weeks, but the more he got, the more he wanted.

He collected the few possessions he had and started back down the hillside, considering how order of the world as a person knows it can shift in a matter of minutes.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Claire finished milking Emily, then got her and Billy bedded down for the night. She saw Logan sitting on the porch steps as soon as she left the barn. She had no idea what to say to him, no idea how to tell him that she'd missed him, and that she'd worried about him even if that wasn't entirely logical. She certainly wasn't going to say all those things because if she did she would end up telling him that she was mad as hell at him too. She hid all that in being the good hostess instead.

"You could've gone inside." The words were more tentative than she'd hoped.

He shrugged and stood up. She let him take the small pail of milk from her, freeing her hands to open the door. "I figured you wouldn't be long."

Inside, the one large room was gloomy, except for the weak light cast by the banked fire.

"Hold on." Claire said. She stirred up the fire, knowing that at this time of day that would be enough to light up the space. "Come on in."

"How did you find this place?" He asked, looking around curiously. The small house was decidedly rustic, but there were flashes of the modern here and there. Framed photos sat on the mantle, books on every subject lined two of the four walls from floor to ceiling. She took the pail of milk from him and set it on the table.

"It was my uncle's. He built it himself when he retired. It's just the one room for living space, but there is a bathroom behind that door. The solar panels heat the water, so if you want a hot bath it's there. The windmills to the north generate enough electricity to turn part of the basement into a coldroom and another part into a walk-in freezer," Claire said. She stirred the stew and cursed herself for babbling. She tasted a bit of the gravy and tossed in a few herbs from the drying rack. She could feel him staring at her, she turned around. "What?"

One eyebrow was lifted curiously. "You have running hot water and refrigeration?"

She smiled and shrugged a little. "Uncle Jackson was....a unique individual. To him utility companies were the government and he didn't want the government in his business. So, he took things into his own hands. He lived this way for twenty years before the flu hit. In that time he upgraded the technology when he could."

"Smart guy." He glanced toward the bathroom door. "Hot bath, huh?"

She smiled a little wider. "If you like," she said. "You can see if any of my uncle's clothes will fit you too. He tended to buy things by sales, not by what fit, so you might find something. Look in that cabinet there." She nodded toward a cabinet near the bed. She turned back toward the stove again. "There are fresh towels in the cabinet in the bathroom."

Claire kept her hands busy pouring the milk into a pitcher and shedding the down vest and quilted overshirt. She hung the clothing on a peg in the small kitchen area. As soon as the bathroom door closed she allowed herself a deep breath. She pushed her left sleeve up to her elbow and the right one halfway up her forearm before washing her hands and getting the ingredients for biscuits out of the cabinets.

Thankfully she'd made those biscuits so often that she could make them in her sleep. She let her hands go through the motions while her mind wandered through a confused landscape.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Logan suppressed a deep groan as he settled into the steaming water. He decided a long time ago that hot water wasn't a necessity for survival, but it was a luxury he liked a hell of a lot. Leave it to Claire to figure out a way to have hot baths and cold food after the end of the world. He smiled a little. She had always been resourceful though, and damn secretive about how she managed half the things she did. The longer he knew her, the more he realized that her mutation was part of it, the other part was that she trusted no one.

She was still doing the thing with her sleeves too. The first time he saw her do it he thought it was just some kind of affectation of hers. The second time he noticed how she held the sleeve in place when she reached for a plate in the kitchen.

"What's wrong with yer arm?" he'd asked.

"Nothing." She hadn't looked at him when she said it, but her scent had become tangy with anxiety. She'd pulled both of her sleeves down again and that's where they stayed for the next few weeks. Hell, they probably would have stayed that way indefinitely if it hadn't been for the accident.

Even through the closed door he could hear her start to hum absently. He started to scrub through the layers of grime as he listened. The humming was one of the little things he felt the absence of after she left.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Clair checked the fire in the stove and put the biscuits in the oven. She glanced over at the only bed in the small house. While her uncle had been alive, he'd slept there and she'd slept on the sofa. After he died, the bed was hers. That was the theory anyway. Most nights she ended up waking up, wandering around and finally sleeping on the sofa anyway. Having Logan there would curtail her movements enough. She stripped the quilts and sheets off the bed and got a clean set of sheets out of the cabinet. He was a guest, the least she could do was make him comfortable.

The very idea of that irked her. Leave it to him to just show up on her doorstep sometime after the end of the world as she knew it. She tugged at the sheet angrily. The first time she'd met him, he just walked into the kitchen at Xavier's in the middle of the night. That threw her off balance before she even set eyes on him because of his adamantium. The fact that the novel sensation was attached a dangerous-looking grungy man who walked in and started pawing through the fridge hadn't eased her mind any. She spread the quilts over the bed again.

That was something she hadn't considered. She could feel the vibration of his adamantium through bathroom wall, how the hell was she going to sleep in the same room with him? Claire sighed. She took an old quilt out of the cabinet and tossed it on the end of the sofa. If she couldn't sleep he would just have to sleep in the barn. He was the only person for miles and his very presence managed to complicate her life.

Of course there were moments when she'd missed him so badly it was almost a physical ache. That upset her more than anything else. Claire set the table and took the biscuits out of the oven. She lined a bowl with a clean cloth and dumped them in, covering them again to keep the heat in. She didn't think she'd ever missed anyone quite that way.

She wouldn't allow herself to think of where it might have gone if he hadn't left.


	2. Walls

**Thank you for the kind review, and to those of you who added this story to their alerts. Both of those things mean a great deal to me. Hopefully, you won't be disappointed in the new installment. :)**

**psyche b**

2. Walls

Claire was putting the last touches on the stew when he emerged from the bathroom. He looked almost like the Logan she remembered. The worn jeans he'd found were a snug fit, but that seemed to be how he always wore them anyway. The green and yellow John Deere t-shirt wasn't so well-suited to his broad frame. He tugged at the restrictive neckline.

"I'll wash what you brought with you tomorrow sometime." Claire rummaged through a cedar chest and came out with a fisherman's sweater made of heavy, unbleached wool. "This'll fit better until then. Hopefully it won't be too warm."

"You seem pretty sure of that." He looked at her curiously.

"I'm certain of it." A little smile touched her lips. Claire turned back to the food when he tugged the other shirt off. She waited until she heard the sweater go over his head before turning around again. She was glad she went with the simple straight cables, they suited him.

"You made this," he said. It wasn't a question.

"I did." Claire said, there was pride in her voice. She looked closely at the sweater and decided she'd done a reasonable job of guessing his dimensions. "The sleeves could have been half an inch shorter, but it'll do."

"It'll do?" He chuckled and sat down. "When did you have time?"

"Well, I started it at Xavier's. It wasn't like I could wander around at night like I was used to, so I had to have something to keep my hands busy." She smiled a little, then picked up his bowl and filled it with the hot stew. "After...I still needed something to keep my hands busy." Claire set the bowl in front of him, and filled her own bowl. When she turned around again she could see that half his stew was gone. It was either that good or he was that hungry.

The rest of dinner was silent, except for her telling him that there was more in the pot if he wanted it. He took her up on the offer without a word. Claire had to suppress a little smile when he went back for the third time. She'd always liked to cook, but beyond that she liked to see people enjoying what she made. Her uncle always had. Not having anyone there to enjoy her cooking added to the emptiness after he died.

"You wouldn't happen to have any beer, would you?" he asked, a little smirk on his face.

Claire laughed. "No, but my uncle made his own mead. I think it's horrible stuff, but if you want to try it, I'll get you some when I put the leftovers away."

"Sounds good." He said.

She put the leftovers in a container, then folded back the braided rug and lifted the trap door to the cellar. "Be back in a few minutes." She disappeared down the steep stairs.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Logan watched her disappear into the dark space. A smile still changed her whole face, even if that face was etched with exhaustion and worry. He wondered how long she'd been alone here, and how she got here in the first place. He knew she had family outside Burlington, and she was planning to visit them for the break. They were a good thirty miles from there if he actually was where he thought he was.

He wondered if she'd seen it coming and - knowing the kind of set-up her uncle had – headed here. It wouldn't surprise him if she had. She had damn good instincts and she tended to follow them.

The sweater had surprised him. He knew she liked to knit. Most of the time when he saw her downstairs in the evening she had a basket of yarn and wooden needles in her hand. The way those needles whispered against each other became the backdrop to more movies and television programs than he could count. In the beginning it was an annoyance, but later he realized that when he heard the needles it meant she hadn't run away to hide him her room. The idea that she'd spend her time making anything for him had never crossed his mind, let alone something as nice as this.

He wondered why she'd kept it hidden away for so long when she or the uncle might have used it.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Claire made sure there was enough food for two thawed for breakfast before coming up with two cold bottles of mead, just in case he liked it.

"Here you go." She handed him one bottle and set the other on the table in front of him. "If you like it there's more down there." Claire collected the dishes and put her back to him while she washed them. She worked at keeping the tension out of her shoulders.

"This ain't half bad," he said. "You're uncle made this?"

"Yes. He has a book on it somewhere, but the one time I saw him make a batch I got the impression that the recipe was mostly in his head," Claire said.

"Sounds like a hell of a guy."

Claire smiled a little. "He was."

After a few minutes he asked, "He got the flu?"

"Yes, but that isn't what killed him," Claire said. "He had a heart attack about six weeks ago. At least, I'm guessing it was a heart attack."

"How'd it happen?" He got up and grabbed the dish towel. Claire turned her head away just enough to hide her face, seeming to pay great attention to scrubbing the stew pot.

She shrugged a little. "We ate breakfast and I went out to the barn. He said he'd be out in a few minutes, so when and hour passed and his still wasn't there I came back inside to check on him." Claire took a deep breath. "I found him on the floor. He didn't have a pulse..." She dug her fingernails into her palm under the dishwater, fighting the urge to cry all over again.

"Claire-"

"It was either a heart attack or a stroke." Her voice was detached again. "It was over too quickly to be anything else."

He was silent. She knew that whatever he was going to say, he'd wait until she looked at him. From anyone else, the tactic wouldn't have worked. She waited until she was reasonably sure she could trust herself not to cry, then she looked over at him.

"I'm sorry," he said. That simple statement was enough to send large cracks radiating throughout her resolve.

"Thank you." There was a tremor in her voice. "Could you finish drying these please?"

Claire didn't wait for an answer. She retreated into the bathroom and started running water for a bath. While the tub filled, she sat on the rim, her arms crossed over her stomach, doing her best to keep the sobs silent.

*~*~*~*~*~*

As soon as the door closed, he threw the dishtowel angrily onto the counter. The damp cloth made an unsatisfying little thumping noise against the butcher block surface. He thought they'd moved past her desire to hide her upset when she'd had the accident. Apparently the time between then and now had been enough for her to put that part of the wall back up.

The accident had been one of those things that could have happened to anyone. She liked to run in the early morning. It was the first – and for several weeks the only – way he'd found to connect with her. For weeks they'd run side by side in silence on the wooded trails that surrounded the mansion. Without conversation, he'd learned quickly that she was comfortable in the woods, that she was in better shape than the clothes she hid in suggested, and that whatever her mutation was, it allowed her to find him easily when he left her behind.

Three weeks after he'd started running with her, he couldn't take the silence anymore. Usually it was the other way around, but he couldn't remember having met a woman who was so damn comfortable in silence. Their first attempts at conversation were stilted and as awkward for her as they were for him. Eventually, they both got comfortable enough that it seemed natural for them to tease each other, or for him to challenge her and to try and make her laugh. Sometimes, she would reward with him a smile, other times she'd roll her eyes and try to bite back the smirk that touched her lips, as if she were afraid of giving him too much encouragement.

In that awkward time, he'd learned that once he got past her hesitance, she'd made him smile just as much. She listened to him. Not because she'd had to, or because she'd been trying to stroke his ego. She'd listened because she'd been interested in what he had to say. She'd asked questions when he left the possibility open, and backed off when he'd needed her to.

The accident had happened on a Sunday. He'd proposed a one-lap race around a good sized pond on the property, with the loser to make the winner breakfast.

She'd cocked her head and looked at him, as if weighing the possibilities. "I have the feeling I'll be cooking when we get back, but okay." She'd smiled, and they'd started.

He could've won, but that hadn't been his intention that morning. Sure she'd call him on it later, but for a minute she would be excited. Just to make it look good though, he'd pulled out ahead of her. He'd heard the change in her stride before he'd heard her pained cry. He'd turned in time to see her laying face down, half in the treeline, half on the rocky shore. He'd rushed back and helped her sit up. When she did he could see the large glass shard sticking out of the backside of her forearm a few inches above her elbow. She'd cut her hand up pretty good too, but that was minor. Just the movement of her sitting up dislodged the shard in her arm. He knew what the brown glass had come from before he ever looked over at the nest of a dozen or so broken beer bottles.

"Sorry," she'd said, and held her other hand over the wound.

It had taken him a minute to realize that she though he was angry at her. "For what?" He hadn't been able to keep the surprise out of his voice.

"Being so clumsy, ruining your-."

"Could've happened to anybody. Lemme see." He'd knelt next to her and moved her hand away gently. "You're probably gonna need stitches in that."

"Great."

He could see she was on the verge of tears at the mention of stitches. "Sorry, but you need a way to put pressure on that while we get back." He'd given her sleeve a sharp tug and tore it up to her elbow. That's when he saw the round burn scar.

"What're you doing?" She'd pulled her arm away from him, as if he were responsible for the injury. The thick scent of terror was coming off her in waves, mixing with the coppery smell of her blood.

"Gettin' something for you to hold over that. Your sleeve is ruined anyway." He'd made no mention of the scar, just finished tearing the sleeve off at the elbow. She'd held the already bloody cloth over the cut, but took just as much care to keep the scar hidden.

He'd made sure she was getting taken care of before trying to figure out which of the students was responsible. That and getting them to clean up the mess had taken the rest of the day. That night, she wasn't downstairs, so he went to find her in her room.

At first, she wouldn't let him in. He'd resisted the urge to threaten to open the door his own way, settling for telling her that he wasn't going away. That had gotten her to open the door at least. He could tell she'd been crying, but she was trying to hold it together.

"Six stitches." She'd said. "It'll be fine."

"Good." He'd said. "Can I come in?"

"No." She'd looked away. "It's just a cut, there's nothing more to say about it."

With most people, he would have just left it alone. There were lots of mutants who were treated like shit as kids. He figured you learned how to deal, and you moved on. Seeing the pain in her eyes had touched him in a way he wasn't accustomed to. Whatever it was, he hadn't been about to let it go.

"Bullshit. Either we talk in there, or you come out here."

She'd sighed and let him in. It was the first and only time she'd let him into her room. He sat next to her on the small sofa and watched her try to placate him by not really answering any of the questions he was asking. He knew she was afraid of something, and he could smell her anger rising as well.

"Why do you want to know?" She'd shouted finally. She'd gotten up and walked across the room, attempting to put distance between them. "Aren't there enough sad stories around here for you? You have to have one more?"

He'd shrugged. "You're the only one I haven't got yet."

She'd smiled a little then sat down with him again. The story took longer to come out, and he'd missed some of it because she was crying so hard. The parts he'd gotten had pissed him off. The scar on her arm was one of eighteen. All except the one he had seen had been inflicted by her grandfather when he thought she was using her mutation, the one on her arm had been a warning when he'd started to suspect what she was.

He couldn't offer her much, but she'd seemed content to rest against his shoulder for awhile. After that night, she'd started to relax. She still wouldn't talk about her mutation, and she still kept the scars hidden, but she smiled more and she talked more about herself. It made him want to get even closer to her. He thought she was starting to feel the same way.

When he heard the tub start to drain he finished drying the pot. Whatever way it went, he would be damned if he was going to sit around and wonder until she decided she wanted to talk about it. He was pacing when she emerged in flannel pajamas and a patched bathrobe.

"Why the hell did you just leave like that?" He demanded.


	3. Conflict Resolution

**Thank you to those who have commented. I'm glad to know that some people are enjoying reading this as much as I'm enjoying writing it!**

**psyche b**

3. Conflict Resolution

"Why the hell did you just leave like that?" he said. The demand for an answer clear in his voice.

Claire stepped back, as if she had been struck. Then she got angry. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me, and you're gonna tell me why!" He was pacing in the small space.

"Well what the hell were you expecting me to do? Sit there and wait for you to just drop back in sometime?" She pushed past him and tossed another log onto the fire. The last thing that room needed was more heat, but she had to do something. When she stood up and turned, he was less than a foot away from him. Claire wouldn't give him the satisfaction of stepping back.

"_Me_? I'm not the one who just disappeared!" He was shouting now. Claire couldn't suppress the little tremor that ran down her spine.

"Selective memory?" she asked sarcastically. She knew that the words would sting, even if he didn't show it. "You're the one just slipped away under the cover of darkness!"

"What the _fuck_ are you talking about?"

She pushed past him and lit the lamp she used to knit by, hoping he wouldn't seem as imposing with a little more light. "Yeah, like you don't know."

"Humor me," he said. There was an angry growl in his voice. Claire's heart started to pound. She swallowed hard.

"Fine," she said, trying to keep her voice even. "The last time we talked was a Tuesday night, can we agree on that?"

"Yeah. Go on."

The memory of that last night was etched into her mind. For months after, she kept playing it over and over, trying to figure out what she had done wrong. "We watched a movie, or you did. It was something that didn't interest me so I fell asleep. At around 10:30 you woke me up and suggested I go to bed. I asked if you still wanted to run in the morning and you said yes and we said goodnight. How am I doing?" He eyes were clashing with his. His posture had softened just a bit.

"That's the way I remember it." He tried to sound neutral. "Go on."

"So, of course I come downstairs at 5:30 the next morning and sit in the kitchen and wait. And wait. I ate an orange, read the paper, and you didn't show up-"

"Ya didn't think to read the note I left you though." He was angry again, and hurt.

"What note?" Claire asked. She was completely confused and making no effort to hide it.

"Oh come on!"

"I don't know what you're talking about! There was no note anywhere!"

She could see the confusion registering on his face. "The one I put inside your pink water bottle with your name on it. You always kept it in the kitchen and you always brought it with you when we went running." He wasn't shouting anymore, and he seemed to be as confused as she was.

"I filled that bottle while I was waiting, there was no note in it." She sat down, hoping that he would do the same. He did.

"You just assumed I was gone?"

"Well, it's not exactly an unheard of thing for you to do." She attempted a weak smile and failed miserably.

The tug at the corner of his mouth was more successful. "I'll give you that."

"I didn't just assume though," Claire went on. "While I was waiting Jean came in and asked if there was any coffee, then she asked what I was doing up. I told her I was waiting for you, and she said you'd left on one of your 'sabbaticals'." The realization dawned on Claire as soon as the words were out of her mouth. "And I'm the biggest idiot in the history of the world."

As soon as Logan had started to spend time with Claire, Jean developed a strange jealousy that Claire couldn't understand. She knew Jean and Logan were flirtatious in spite of Jean's relationship with Scott. For all Claire knew it went further than that, but she had never understood why the other woman saw her as a threat to anything. Especially not after he saw the scar.

"No you're not." He plowed one hand through his hair. His anger from earlier dissipated, but the upset remained. "So you just left?"

"Well, I was planning to go three days later anyway." Claire didn't want to admit the real reason. She felt the heat of a blush stain her cheeks. "I heard they might close down highways to contain the spread of the flu, so I left early."

It wasn't a total lie. Speculation about quarantines had been rampant for weeks, but the fact that she left just before one had actually been imposed was pure luck. The other part was that she'd gotten so damn used to practically tripping over him everywhere that she wasn't sure how she was going to face those three days alone. School was out, most of the students were gone already. She knew that missing him so much was silly when she'd only known him a short time, but she wasn't exactly thinking rationally when she tossed her hastily packed bags into the car and drove off.

If he picked up on the omission, he didn't mention it.

"I'm sorry you thought I just vanished," she said quietly. "That wasn't my intention." Her eyes held his again. He moved a lock of now-unbound hair out of her face with one finger.

"I didn't mean for you to think I disappeared either."

She smiled a little. The distance between them on the sofa seemed to much and too little at the same time. Claire found that she couldn't hold those intense eyes for very long though.

"What was in the note," she asked finally.

"Where I was actually goin'," he said. "You knew one of the students ran off?"

"Yeah, but that was nearly three weeks before."

"Chuck figured out where he was. He knew I wasn't about to take any shit from a sixteen year old, so he sent me after him. I told ya I'd be back that night, or the next day at the latest."

Claire smiled a little and glanced up at him again. "All this time I was so mad at you and the whole thing was my fault."

"I wouldn't say entirely your fault." He smiled a little then. Some of the tension that had collected in her lower back eased.

"Thanks." She looked down at her hands.

"What did you do when you got home? Or did you come straight here?" Claire knew he hadn't been thrilled with the idea of Claire coming back to spend time with the grandmother who never lifted a finger to protect her. Claire knew that her grandmother was just as scarred in her own ways and since her grandfather had died just before she went to work at Xavier's, Claire had seen no reason to stay away anymore.

"Oh I went home, and I did was just about everyone was doing then. I watched the family die off one by one. First my grandmother, but that was only five hours after I got back so she was unconscious the whole time. After that there were three great aunts and a great uncle within two weeks. Everyone else that I had any contact with was gone by then, except Uncle Jackson and I didn't really know that he was still around either." Claire paused. "Then I got it."

His eyes widened. "You had it?"

"Yes, but I was in a hospital so it wasn't so bad," she said quickly.

"Still-"

"It's late for me," she said, not looking at him. "You don't have to go to sleep if you don't want to, but I think I need to." She managed a little smile.

He stroked her cheek. "Nah. After sleeping on the ground for so long this couch is going to feel damn good."

"No," she said. "I'm sleeping over here."

"Claire-"

"I'm shorter than you and I usually end up sleeping over her anyway. Besides, I already changed the sheets."

"Ya sure?" he asked.

"Yeah," she smiled and got up, intending to wind the clock. She paused with her back to him, then looked over her shoulder. "Logan, what I said about your memory-"

He smirked a little. "Hell, I thought you were gonna slug me for a minute there. I figure I got off easy."

Claire smiled and almost told him how much she'd missed him.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Logan lay in bed, stretched out and utterly comfortable. He could tell from the sound of her breathing that Claire was nearly asleep. He closed his eyes and listened to the soft, rhythmic pattern. She'd left out one thing about that Tuesday night. When she'd fallen asleep she'd been resting against his shoulder.

When he closed his eyes, he could still see her there. Her lips were curled into a relaxed smile and every so often she would let out the softest little sigh. Her scent changed too. No matter how calm she seemed to be, there was always the sharpness of anxiety commingling with the cooler scents that surrounded her. That night, the anxiety disappeared entirely and the clean, spiced fruit aroma had added to his distraction.

She'd been wrong about why he woke her too, though she had no way of knowing it. He would have stayed there all night, but it looked like her neck was at a strange angle so he'd started to try and wrap his arm around her, wanting her settle against his side. For a minute he'd thought he might succeed too, but she'd woken up and assumed that he had been _trying_ to wake her. He didn't know how she would take it if he told her the truth, so he'd said goodnight, and that he would meet her in the morning like always and that had been it.

Chuck found him fifteen minutes later. For a minute, he'd considered waking her, but he'd decided against it. Now he wished he had.

She wasn't the only one who had listened to Jean either. He'd gotten back late the next evening wanting nothing more than a shower and some sleep. He'd found her waiting in his room when he got out of the shower. He'd told her to get out, but she'd pouted and 'accidentally' unwrapped the towel from his waist. He'd been tired, but not that tired. When she was leaving she happened to mention that Claire had 'just left' the day before.

"Why?" he'd asked.

"I don't know, she said something about needing to make a fresh start, whatever that means," she'd replied. She'd shut the door behind herself then, leaving him with an empty ache that stayed with him, even after the world fell apart.

The sound of Claire's deep, regular breathing brought him back to the present. Just a hint of her aroma drifted over to him. He allowed it to lull him to sleep.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Claire woke half an hour before sunrise. At first, she thought that she'd only dreamed about Logan coming back, then she felt the vibration of his adamantium and heard a soft snore coming from the other part of the room. She smiled to herself, relieved that his arrival and the closure it brought hadn't been a figment of her imagination.

She listened to his soft snoring for a minute and then got up quietly. She, tugged on a pair of thick socks, plucked the quilt off of the sofa and slipped out the door. The porch wrapped around the house, and she headed for the back. Sitting on the back steps, she would have a good view of the sunrise. She leaned her head against the railing and sighed softly.

There was only the faintest hint of light in the sky, enough to turn darkness to a thick gray. The stronger stars still shone through, but they were starting to disappear quickly. The soft glow took on a faint yellow hue as she watched.

"Claire?"

She jumped and looked over her shoulder. She heard the metal-on-metal hiss as his claws retracted.

"I'm sorry, did I wake you?" She looked more closely at him and realized he'd come out in only his jeans. She got up and unwrapped the quilt. She stood on her tiptoes and wrapped it around his shoulders. "You're going to catch a-"

His arched eyebrow stopped her.

"No you're not." She laughed softly. "Sorry." Claire turned away, letting the curtain of her hair cover her blush.

"S'okay. Warm always feels better than cold. You get up this early every morning?"

"Yes, but I didn't mean to wake you. Uncle Jackson was always such a heavy sleeper, I could've done a tap dance out here, he wouldn't have noticed." She smiled a little and sat down again. He sat behind her, straddling her body. He left the quilt wrapped around himself, but used the excess to wrap around her. Even though he wasn't touching her, Claire bit her lip to stifle the little moan that the instant comfortable warmth and intimacy engendered by the movement.

"No big deal. You always been a morning person?"

"Pretty much, not always for the same reasons though," she said softly. Silence grew between them.

"Why now?" he asked finally.

"This is the only time of day when there's no work to do." She chuckled. "It's too dark to clean or work outside. The animals don't need anything right now. It's too early to eat."

"Makes sense."

"What about you?"

"Not really, it just sorta happened that way."

Claire wasn't sure if she should press for more details, so she let it go for the moment. She'd learned that when he had something he really wanted to say but didn't know how to approach, he was good at bringing the conversation around that way again, giving her a second chance to ask the right question. It amazed her how the time away from him seemed to evaporate now that he was close-by again. She had no idea how long that was going to last though.

Brighter yellow and deeper orange streaked the sky. Claire could see patches of frost on the ground in front of her. Not the thick, heavy frost that would come in a few weeks. This was a sugary frost that glistened for a few fleeting moments in the early sunlight and then disappeared. For a few silent moments, she watched the garden sparkle in the growing light, as if she could go out later and harvest a crop of diamonds. The thought of harvesting anything made her sigh.

"I need to ask you something and I'm not asking to try and get you mad." Her voice was more tentative than she intended, and she cursed herself for it.

"Sounds serious. Shoot."

"Are you planning on staying through the winter?" It sounded harsh, even to her own ears. "I mean, you're welcome to if you want to. I didn't ask if you were on your way somewhere else. I should just shut up now, I sound like an idiot." She sighed and put her head in her hands for a minute and cursed the effect his closeness was having on her.

He gave a short laugh. "Darlin', I didn't have many plans before, and now I have even less than that. If that's an invitation, I'm staying."

"It is an invitation," she said. A little smile touched her lips. "I'm also trying to figure out if I have enough stored to get us through the winter. There's enough planted, but I'm not sure if I'm going to have time to-"

"You think I'm gonna sit around with my feet up and watch?"

"Well, no but-"

"Good," he said.

The word had a finality about it that Claire found difficult to question. She wasn't sure if she liked that or not, but there was something appealing about not having to make every last decision herself. Anything else she was going to say was interrupted by the rooster crowing. Claire sighed.

"Never lasts long enough," she smiled over her shoulder and got up. "I need to tend the animals. Can you milk a goat?"

"I guess we'll find out, won't we?" He smirked a little and followed her into the house.


	4. The Corners Of Her Mind

**Author's Note: I don't own Wolverine or the X-men and i don't make any money from writing this...though i do enjoy it quite a bit. ;)**

**Thank you to those who have commented and subscribed. Comments make my day.**

**Enjoy**

**psyche b**

4. The Corners Of Her Mind

Claire could hear Emily bleating and Logan swearing the whole time she was feeding the chickens and gathering the eggs. When she walked into the barn to see how he was doing, he was on one side of the small space and the goat was on the other. They were glaring at each other. He was growling and it looked like the claws were going to come out at any second. Emily was pawing the ground and looked equally angry. Claire couldn't help but laugh.

"It ain't funny!" Logan said.

"Looks pretty funny from where I'm standing." Claire couldn't suppress all of the little giggles that threatened to erupt, but she did a reasonable job at silencing most of them.

"That thing," He jabbed his finger at Emily. "Belongs roasting over a fire."

"She just doesn't know you. Here, take the eggs inside, I'll be in after."

He shot one more withering look at the goat and took the small basket from Claire's hand. As soon as he was gone she let some of the laughter out. The indignant goat calmed down and stood still while Claire milked her.

"You're going to have to get used to him Em, at least for this winter," Claire said.

The goat shifted, seemingly unhappy with the prospect.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Claire cooked eggs and venison sausage for breakfast, and he ate with as much gusto has he had at dinner the night before. She loved to see him enjoy her cooking, but if he kept up at that rate she was going to have to get out and do some hunting before winter set in. Or he was. After a quick discussion of what needed to be done he modified the neckline of the t-shirt he had tried to wear the night before and headed outside. Claire started the laundry.

Laundry was easily one of her least favorite chores. It involved a metal washtub, a washboard and entirely too much time sweating. At least today she didn't feel like doing the laundry meant that she had to neglect other things. For some reason, that made it easier to tackle the job.

By ten, she had a line full of clothes and she was ready for a break. She got last night's stew heating and brought up some mint tea. Healing factor or not, she figured he'd probably want a break too. She prepared two glasses with ice and put a bit of fresh mint in each, just because she felt like being a little bit fancy.

*~*~*~*~*~*

By the time he'd been there a week, Logan noticed that she'd started to sing again. Today she was canning what couldn't be stored any other way and she had all the doors and windows open. He stood there, just listening to her for a few minutes. In the last few days, most of the worry had faded from her face. She still looked tired, but not half as tired as she had the first day.

He figured she was tired because she still wasn't sleeping right. He knew because the sharp change in her scent had awakened him twice. The first time, he'd simply lay there listening to her take faster, ragged breaths as she tried to calm herself down. The first time, he just listened. The second time he'd tried to comfort her. She'd laid awkwardly against his shoulder, hesitating to relax into him. She'd calmed down more quickly, and eventually fallen asleep against him. Much as he hated to see her in that state, he like having her close like that.

His own sleep had been less troubled in the last few years. With nothing interfering, he'd managed to reclaim most of his memories. He didn't want most of them, but at least when he had nightmares now he knew what they were about. That alone made them easier to deal with.

The sun was sinking lower in the sky, and the scent of roasting meat mixed with the other smells that surrounded the small farm. Any minute now she would be coming out to milk that damned goat. He still wanted to roast the irascible animal, but she liked having the milk. A moment later he saw walked across to the barn, still singing.

*~*~*~*~*~*

"You said you met other survivors," Claire said. "Are there any around here?" It was a topic she had been curious to broach ever since he arrived. After a good meal, with her back to him while she dried the dishes, she seemed to finally have enough courage to ask.

"Why?" He sounded guarded. She turned to look at him.

"I'm curious. I haven't seen anyone besides my uncle since I left Burlington. I was starting to think I was all alone in the world." That was a part of it, but the reality of managing the place alone had hit home with his arrival. Claire knew she wasn't going to be able to keep the place going without at least one more person. Through the winter, he would stay. It was the time after he left that worried her.

He seemed to be weighing his words. "You damn near are. I've seen about a hundred others."

"That's all?" She sat down at the other end of the sofa, her leg tucked under her, then picked up one of his shirts. She'd started mending the shoulder seam before dinner. For some reason, the worn flannel felt comforting in her hands.

"All I've seen." He watched her fingers move deftly for a moment before he looked at her again.

Claire tried to ignore the scrutiny. "Have you stayed mostly in this area?"

"Nah. Went back to Canada at first, then worked my way back down here."

"And you've only seen a hundred people?" Claire was shocked. She was sure that there would be more survivors than that somewhere.

He laughed. "Darlin' there are parts of Canada that were empty even before the flu."

She blushed a little. "I know, but I just thought that there would be more people somewhere."

He shook his head a little. "Not many people survived. Of the ones who survived the flu itself, a lot of them didn't make it through the first winter because most of them just didn't know how."

Claire looked down at the shirt in her hands. The needle paused. "What about mutants?"

"I've met three other ferals, and you." He wasn't looking at her. She could tell there was more to it than that, and she knew one of the reasons better than she wanted to. She started stitching the seam again.

"They blame us." It made Claire sick to her stomach to say it out loud.

"Yeah. Ferals manage better. We can live between settlements more easily than most. For those who can't," he looked into the fire, "they hide as long as they can."

The meaning behind those words sent a shiver down Claire's spine.

*~*~*~*~*~*

_Claire's consciousness came swimming back slowly. Her limbs felt so heavy, for a moment she was sure she was bound to whatever she was laying on. For awhile that oppression was all she knew. She didn't know how long it took to come back to herself, but eventually, the world started to seep in. The bone deep ache registered first and silence. Next came the sticky stench that settled in the back of her throat and expanded, like a sponge filling with water. She started gasp. To force her arms and legs to work. She fought, almost as if she were fighting with a living being. Her senses were consumed by the thick miasma..._

Claire was gasping for breath when she opened her eyes. Without thinking about the cold or anything else, she ran outside, drinking in the cold fresh air as if she had been drowning only minutes before. The stones stung her feet and threw her balance, but getting away from the stench and the dream was all she could think of. She kept going, ignoring everything else, until she felt a tight grip on her upper arm. She screamed and struggled against the iron grip that pulled her bodily around and shook her back into the present.

"CLAIRE!" Logan's face was etched in moonlight.

"I'm.." She looked away, trembling taking over. "I'm sorry."

She tried to move away again but he pulled her against his chest. That was the last thing Claire needed if she was going to keep the threatening tears from falling. She pushed against against him.

She whimpered. "Let me go!"

"No!"

For a moment she fought harder, knowing it was useless. She couldn't fight the sob that tore through her. Once it was out, all the tears she'd held back came out too. She put her arms around him awkwardly, unaccustomed to drawing comfort from another, and certain he was going to withdraw it at any moment. The only time he moved was to rest his cheek against the top of her head. When the storm of emotion passed, she was trembling against him.

"Sorry." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "You must be freezing." She couldn't make herself move away from him, and he still hadn't let her go.

"Not as cold as you are. C'mon." He kept his arm around her shoulders while they walked back to the house. She didn't say anything until the door was closed behind them again.

"I don't usually-" She searched for the right words. "It's weird for me to do that."

"What was it about?" He asked. He still hadn't let go of her.

"What?"

"The dream."

She shrugged and wrapped her quilt around her shoulders. "I don't know, it was just a dream. They never make any kind of sense to me." She sat on the couch with her feet drawn up under her.

"Bullshit. You've had nightmares every other night since I've been here. Dreams like that don't follow you unless there's a reason." He sat next to her. Her eyes clashed with his.

"Fine. Half my childhood was a nightmare. I'm dreaming about that." She turned away. Her voice was flat, her eyes on the embers that glowed in the fireplace.

He put his arm around her and pulled her against his shoulder. She shifted the quilt so that it was covering him too. "You're a bad liar."

"It's too late to go digging around in the past," She said softly. Claire closed her eyes and let the scent of his skin replace the one that she had been running from. One of his hands drifted lazily over her back, the other stroked her arm as it rested around his waist. Claire could feel all of her resolve slipping away. "You don't need me to cry on you any more than I already have."

"Darlin', I been shot more times than I like to think about, a few tears ain't gonna do any damage."

Claire didn't look up at him, but a little smile tugged at her lips. She couldn't remember a time when she felt more safe. She hoped talking about it wouldn't shatter that feeling of safety. Twice she tried to start, and twice the words just wouldn't come out.

"You know I had the flu," she said finally.

"Yeah." His cheek was resting against the top of her head again.

"At that point, they were telling everyone who got it to avoid hospitals and clinics unless there were no family members left to take care of them. By the time I got it, I was the only one left of the family I had contact with. I thought about coming here, but I couldn't reach Uncle Jackson. Even though I wasn't that sick in the beginning I knew I would need some kind of care later on, so I went to the hospital in Burlington." Claire had never talked about that time. Putting the words to the memory felt strange. She fought to keep her voice detached.

"At that point, the hospitals must have been full." His voice was quiet.

"They were. Triage wasn't about getting to the most seriously ill people first. The ones who were in the later stages were taken to any spare space available, made relatively comfortable and left to die. The ones who weren't so bad off had to wait. People who were in the beginning stages, like me, were seen immediately and given whatever treatment they thought would do the most good. They almost treated me with a new antiviral."

"Almost?" His hand paused on her back.

"I was sitting there, waiting for a nurse to come in and start an IV when she came in with two orderlies. She said that because I'm a mutant the hospital wasn't obligated to provide treatment. I was too tired to fight about it, so I got up to leave. That's when I was informed that I wasn't allowed to do that, either." Claire started to tremble a little. He held her tighter. "The two orderlies took me down into the basement and put me into a room near the morgue. It had probably been a storage room at some point, because it was just bare cinder blocks and a concrete floor. Someone had squeezed in six army cots, five of them were already occupied by other mutants in various stages of flu."

His body tensed and she could hear the little growl building in his chest. "They just left you there to die?"

"I guess." She whispered. "They didn't try to rush it along or anything. There was a shower and a toilet in the room. Once a day they brought in food and things like aspirin for the aches. That's when they would take the bodies away too. The rest of the time, the door was locked from the outside, unless they were bringing someone else in. Those who weren't as sick did what they could for those who were, until they weren't able to anymore. If I had died, it would have been easier. Or maybe if I'd gotten better sooner."

"What do you mean?"

"I went through the stages, like everyone else. After about four days, the high fever hit and I figured that was it. I'd lose consciousness eventually and die. I did lose consciousness, and I don't know how long I was out. I must have gotten up long enough to drink water at some point, but I don't remember doing it. Eventually the fever broke." Claire closed her eyes and started to tremble. "You must be tired. We should-"

"No. You gotta finish it."

"Why?" She was halfway between angry and devastated.

"When you woke up, were you alone in that room?"

Claire took a deep breath, letting herself sink into his musky scent. "I was the only one alive." Her voice was barely above a whisper, the trembling had returned, and so had her tears. "The others were...the smell...I couldn't breathe. The door was still locked." She couldn't say anymore. The tears and sobs took over.

Somewhere outside of all that, Claire could hear him swearing.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-"

"It ain't your fault. Just pisses me off that anybody could do that." The low growl she'd heard in his chest was back again.

"I don't know if it was intentional. I was in the last stages, I should have died. Once I finally got out of that room I realized the hospital was abandoned. So was the city."

"Is that what the dream is? Bein' alone there?"

"No." She took a deep breath. "I dream about the smell, sometimes the face, but mostly the smell. It felt like days before it was off of my skin, weeks before it was out of my hair. In the dream it chokes me. I thought I would have forgotten it by now."

"I know that stink," he said softly. "It's been around every battlefield I've ever been on."

"Does the memory of it go away?" Some of her trembling eased.

"Probably. Hasn't happened for me yet, though." He kissed the top of her head. "C'mon."

He got up and Claire got to her feet at his urging. "What?"

"You need some sleep and so do I." He started leading her toward the bed, Claire pulled her hand out of his.

"Logan-"

"I ain't leavin' you alone, and I would rather not have to sleep sitting up."

Claire followed him hesitantly.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Logan looked down at the side of Claire's sleeping face and wondered how one woman could walk through one circle of Hell after another and still manage to come out on the other side as something other than a shattered shell. Most of what he went through, he'd signed up for. She hadn't wanted any of it, but she carried every single piece with a grace that amazed him. He didn't know if talking about the dream would help her or not, but now he had some idea of what she was dealing with. At least now she was in a deep, peaceful sleep.

He wrapped his arm around her waist and closed his eyes. She sighed softly.


End file.
